Not So Great of a Eurotrip, Actually
by Machaira
Summary: A silly one-shot crackfic wherein the boys find themselves abroad, and it's not as glamorous as they hoped it would be. I do not own any of the Supernatural or View Askew characters. I had fun. Hope you do too! WARNING - very coarse language abounds.


_When Those Guys in Eurotrip Were Stranded, At Least They Had a Hot German Chick to Look Forward To_

A Supernatural Crackfic! by Machaira

* * *

It was raining. Again.

Dean folded his arms under the £2 poncho that was keeping the water out as well as if he had instead decided to shield himself with unwrapped fruit roll ups. In other words, he was soaking wet. "Sam," he said. "Tell me why we're here again."

Sam groaned. "We're here be–

"Forget it," Dean said. "I already stopped caring."

"Look. I don't know what you want me to do. The bus should be coming soo–

"That's what you said a half hour ago. I don't think this town can afford busses. Are we sure one is coming?"

"Pretty sure."

"Just that sure? Fantastic."

"I can't speed up time."

"Well you should learn to do that instead of just mind fuck with demons."

"Gee, you're so funny, Dean. When's your comedy circuit debuting?"

"When I get the fuck out of this rain and find somewhere with a fire. Or some proper booze."

"Geez, no need to speak like a sailor, sir. And don't even think about going back in the pub. The guy knew we were hunters. I think he knew what we were going to do."

"Oh was he?" Dean's voice went up a few pitches out of irritation. "And 'sir?' What? Are we Jay and Silent Bob* now?"

The two boys suddenly stopped and looked down at the ground. Then, in unison, they looked up towards the horizon. They stared out for a couple seconds before they noticed that some poor, hapless fools had joined them in their drenched misery. A rather large, bearded man and a chatty, blond fellow who looked like you could knock him over with a feather. Dean and Sam soon wished they had at least attempted to do this. The fat guy didn't say a word or even look the two brothers in the eye, but the blond guy seemed excited for a larger audience.

"Hey, look at these fuckers. Just sitting here all wet and shit."

Dean and Sam exchanged looks and then stared back out towards the horizon.

"It's all right, Sam," Dean muttered. "If we pretend nothing happened and we didn't say anything, they'll go away."

"What? Are you guys homos or something?" The guy continued, not missing a beat. "You guys want us to leave so you can make out or something? You're looking pretty, sirs. Real pretty. Like Leo DiCaprio or that chick Ben Affleck**. You probably could get an acting job, for real. But hey, don't look at me. I don't got any junk on me. No sirs. Not one drop. Not even a nickel bag. Nope. So you can forget it. Hey, did you guys see this one German chick go by? She left something on the train and I was going to give it to her. Oh yeah, I'll give it to her all right. Oh, I'd smack that hot ass. I already got a squeeze earlier. Bitch thought it was an old fucker getting his luggage. Man, those German chicks don't fuck around."

Now, Dean looked more visibly concerned. He pivoted his body as far as he could without actually turning around. He moved his lips as little as possible as he spoke. "Sam," he said in a very low, slow voice. "What is going on?"

"I have no idea," Sam said. "It's like we're in a really bad crossover fic."

"Crossover fic?"

"Yeah, it's whe– nevermind."

Soon, they began to hear the familiar sounds of some kind of locomotion in the distance.

"Is that the bus? Oh thank _god_!" Dean asked.

"That's not us," Sam said. "It's a… cab?"

"Oh. Damn." Dean chewed the bottom of his lip and shot a look at the larger man who was sitting beside him, not saying a word. "Oh god I hope that's theirs."

"Sweet!" the blond guy said. "It's our ride to paradise, my friend! Let's go fat ass. Sweet, voluptuous love awaits!"

The brothers watched as their two unwelcome visitors got in the poor, unsuspecting taxi and drove off.

"Sam," Dean said. "What just happened? Why do we keep meeting the most ridiculous people in the entire known world? And why is it always when we can't get away? Do you know how helpless that makes me feel? And, a better question is – why didn't we call a cab?"

"What do you want me to say?" Sam snapped back. "It's cheaper to wait for the bus. Besides, we wouldn't have missed our only connection in an hour if you hadn't been stuck on the toilet for five years."

"CURRY, Sam. There was only a curry shop open. Who'd have thought that the entire town of Asslick Flanheap‡, or whatever the hell this place is called, would close up on a Sunday afternoon."

"Yes, well thanks to your gentle bowels, we have to wait in the rain for the next bus to Hinckley so we can get a connection to Manchester. The bus system is bad enough in this area, not to mention on a Sunday! So I wouldn't complain."

"Please don't ever say the phrase 'gentle bowels' ever again. I swear, I'll hit you in the face. I will."

"And I'll hit you in the stomach so you take less time to go to the bathroom."

"Oh look at you, funny guy. Classy. Always keeping it classy, Sammy."

Dean was really about to give Sam a good kick in the shins but another person had joined them. It was a little old lady who looked very disturbed, not that she wasn't at home during a downpour, but that she had to share the incredibly small bench with a couple of degenerates. She scooted to the far end of the bench and wedged herself there, gripping the frail aluminum beam with one hand and reaching into her purse with the other, probably searching for her can of mace, or Swiss army pocketknife. Whichever was legal to carry around in England. The guys weren't too sure. They already had a fiasco in the London underground. It had only been a couple hours in the country and they were already on the run because Dean hadn't bothered to properly disguise his hunting knife. Sam tried to smile at her reassuringly, but she kept her eyes on the ground. The rain dripped down the metal beam and onto her hand, but she didn't seem to notice or care. For some reason, the villagers of Aston Flamville couldn't be bothered with a covered bench that actually covered the people that would want to sit on it. The flimsy, flapping piece of plywood tacked on top of several aluminum beams was a pitiful excuse for being protected from the elements.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, their bus came and they got on, their stomachs growling and their patience rapidly fading.

"Why are we going to Manchester again?" Dean said between gritted teeth. "I really don't want to deal with Man U fans right now…"

"Cheap Ryanair tickets to Dublin," Sam said. He shook his head in attempt to dry his hair, but it only made him look worse. Like a wet dog. Or puppy. A sad, wet little puppy.

"Why didn't we just go to Dublin in the first place? Eliminate the amount of time I have to be on a plane."

"More expensive," Sam said. "Plus, we would have flown out of London but you caused a scene there. As usual."

"Hey, I was trying to make sure we were prepared all right? You never know what kind of crazies you're going to meet abroad. And thanks to those two whack-jobs that we met earlier, my point was proven quite clearly, thank you very much. So you should be thankful someone is thinking ahead!"

"Right," Sam said, completely exhausted. "Whatever, man. As long as we get to Dublin to meet the contact."

"Man, I thought it would be different, Sam," Dean said, suddenly looking pensive†.

"What do you mean?"

"Our first job, abroad, you know? I thought it would be cool. Like, we would meet these quirky people who would become our friends, at least for the duration of the job."

"What like some kind of TV show? Those kind of relationships don't really happen in real life, Dean. That's why most TV shows are escapes. They don't actually depict reality."

"Well you could say our life was like a TV show then," Dean laughed. "We're not exactly close to reality."

"But it's our reality," Sam said. "Unfortunately."

"Eh, well, sometimes the wardrobe department really sucks," Dean said, tugging on his poncho and then ripping off a piece because of it. He looked at the piece of wrinkled plastic distastefully and tossed it on the ground. "See what I mean?"

"Yeah it's not exactly glamorous," Sam agreed.

"Why couldn't we have gotten a job in Amsterdam? I want to go there."

"What, so you can eat hash brownies without getting arrested?"

"Something like that. Debauchery at its finest. My kind of town. Instead, we're going to Dublin."

"Yep," Sam said. "At least they know how to drink there."

Dean looked as though this was not good enough to offset the wonders that would have been found in Amsterdam. However, he threw back his shoulders and rubbed his eyes free from the moisture that had collected on his face. He turned to look out the window (though there wasn't much to see in the fading light). "Well," he spoke and then cleared his voice. "They better have some _real_ pie there."

* * *

*My apologies to Kevin Smith for poorly attempting to mimic the voice of Jay, one of the best characters ever. You deserve better, sir.

**My extended apologies to Ben Affleck, who is a fine sport and certainly looks nothing like a girl. However, this is something Jay would probably, say, no? Because he is kind of a dick. Jay, I mean. Not Ben.

‡My further and most sincere apologies to the citizens of Aston Flamville who might happen to read this little ditty. I have never been to Aston Flamville, but it's certainly a fantastic name for a town and I am sure its people strive to make the most reliable and capable bus stops that follow all the required building codes, etc. Can I type Aston Flamville one more time? Excellent.

†Apologies to the fan base. I understand pensive is a rather overused adjective. Bear with me. I'm low on caffeine today.


End file.
